The Breaking Point
by KrystalBlaze - Jerikor
Summary: His breaking point is all too real. And when he breaches it, the only thing that can come of it is hurt.
1. Default Chapter

Well, hi ya. This is Akila, not Blazer. Got it? Good. Well, this is my new wrestling fic. I'll just have to see how this one goes, 'cause I typed three parts before and well, they sucked, so I erased them all, and you'll never get to see them. Instead, you'll get this better one. I hope it'll be better, at least. This one'll be updated as fast as I can, 'cause, I'll say it again, we can only upload when we're at our grandfather's house, so, if new parts don't come out, they will eventually, just not very fast. Kay? Okay.  
  
Disclaimer- I own the little people. The people you don't know, their mine, most likely, so don't you take them!  
  
Enjoy.  
  
  
  
THE BREAKING POINT  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
  
  
I yawned tiredly and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, shutting out the world around me. Today was one of the many days that had recently plauged me, when the world was too big for me, when the pain was too big for me to conceal. This was one of the few ways that kept me sane. Coolness dampened me and I sat for a long while, lost in the abyss of nothing.  
  
"Ding-dong, Jericho's dead, ding-dong, the bitch is dead!"  
  
"What?" I leaped up, frantically trying to sort the voice, ignoring the slap of pain that hit me in the neck.  
  
"Ah, did I scare the baby?" mocked Kurt Angle. "What? What? Please, you sound like Austin, man, I thought you hated him."  
  
"Kurt," I groaned, slumping back down into the chair. "Please, go away. I don't feel good."  
  
"You never feel good," he complained, slinging backwards over another chair. "I swear, man, you're on something." I stopped for a moment, bit my lip, then spoke.  
  
"Please, Kurt, you're on something. I mean, you act high like everyday. Running around, with you thumb neck, with your happy face, 'I'm Kurt Angle, Olympic gold medalist, please to met you, can I have your phone number, since I can't get any dates of my own?' You're a con artist, man, that's what you are."  
  
"And proud of it," he replied. I sighed in relief. "How's your neck doing?"  
  
"Fine, until you came and scared me to death," I said spitefully.  
  
"Ah poor you," he laughed, cuffing my neck brace. I gave a growl. "Oh, he bites."  
  
"Try me Angle," I said in a low voice. "See what happens."  
  
"Still, he bites," he laughed again, stepping up. "Well, see ya later alligator."  
  
"Alligator?"  
  
"Go to hell." He moved out the room, shutting the door loudly as he left.  
  
Sighing, I picked myself up and dragged over to the bag. I dropped my hand into it, searching for the round bottle. Finally I felt it and rolled it up, twisting the top open quickly. Tilting the bottle, four slid into my hand. With one hand, I unstrapped the nylon neck brace, throwing it into the wall, breathing in deeply. With the other hand, I dropped all four painkillers down my throat.  
  
I threw the bottle back into bag, stopped to pick up the neck brace, zipped up the bag, and walked out.  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
  
  
"You alright?" Stephanie McMahon asked me, a quirky smile on her face. "You look kind of out of it."  
  
"Fine," I answered lightly. Ah, she looked so pretty. She could have been an angel. It was an accident she had caught me outside the arena as I headed to my car. Of course, she did look like an angel, so maybe she was one. A gaurdian angel. Didn't that sound so nice? She could fly, then. I could fly too. . .if I sincerely tried. I smiled at her charmingly. "You know, you look like an angel."  
  
She blushed and hid her face. Ah, sweet, an angel blushing. A camera would have been most appropriate. "Thanks," she said, trying hard to keep her face away. "Um. . .well, any reason you said that, Chris?"  
  
She looked at me so sweetly, it made my heart ache. The dull ache behind my eyelids didn't even compare to how it hurt my heart to see her smile.  
  
"No," I said, smiling back. "Its just true, you know? Really, you do. I think maybe you are. You can fly, then. I can fly too, you know. I just have to get high enough, a good start, you know? Then I jump and flap and fly. Hey, we can fly together one day. Like birds." Now that I was started, a bird looked kind of like Stephanie too. Not a turkey or pigeon, but a beautiful eagle soaring high above the mountaintops. She had that nature too, a regal bearing and no doubt in the world where she stood. So much like an angel, like an eagle. Engle. A combination of both.  
  
"Are you alright?" she asked, the smile still on her face, but confusion now.  
  
"Oh, nothing," I said dreamily. "You're just an engle. You look so pretty, you could be a butterfly too." A butterfly was also very beautiful.  
  
"Engle? That some French word?" She laughed and I laughed with her. Oh, she was funny too! Engle, pretty, funny, what a combination. We would have a ball flying together. Tomorrow would be such a good day.  
  
"We could fly tomorrow," I told her, opening the door to the car, throwing the bag in. "I know this place where we can get so much air. You'll fly naturally, I'll just have to flap my hardest."  
  
She looked concerned, now, for a reason I didn't know why. There was nothing in the world that was wrong. I could float away right now, actually. I looked around the great stone lot and sighed in disappointment. "No, I can't float. I'd hit the ceiling."  
  
"Chris, are you alright?" she said, the smile gone, all trace of laughter gone. "Do you need help?"  
  
"Help?" I laughed. "I just need you." That was poetic. Now that would inspire her. Yes, the flying date was on!  
  
"Um. . ." She looked away, then looked back. "I better go. You be careful, alright?"  
  
"So we'll fly tomorrow?" I said hopefully.  
  
"Sure," she answered, backwalking away. "Whatever you want, Chris. See ya."  
  
"Bye," I said mournfully. "Have fun."  
  
What a shame. Not to fly.  
  
Sighing at her insolence, I slid into the car and started the engine.  
  
  
  
Much better! I hope you like it! Not really a point right now, just focus on the second chapter, how the mood is switched so drastically. Sane, insane. Get it? It'll unravel in the next chapter. See ya soon!  
  
DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! 


	2. Default chapter

Okay, new part. Hope ya like it. Keep reading, please. Um. . .some things should get cleared up in this chapter. There should be some things coming up some people might not like, so I'll warn you when I think it gets personal. If I offend anyone, I am very sorry. Don't sue, I don't know where my thirty bucks are(um, if I don't upload after this, its because Blazer killed me, 'cause it was her money too, so, RIP to me.)  
  
Hope you like it!  
  
  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
  
  
The taste in my mouth was sour, yet sweet in the same time. Growling, I drained the glass of water in one gulp. It did nothing to the taste, only wet my throat. Well, fat help that did. I crunched the paper cup in my hand, tossing it into the waste basket. Two points. Great help that did, too.  
  
Today was another day, those full-blown days when there was just too much to bear. I sat down next in the chair next to the bed, releasing my head to my hands, gazing out the window to the parking lot below. The motel was shabby, basically, but on one of these days, it didn't matter where I was, only as long as I could stay alone in the dark crevice that was my life.  
  
My neck ached pain as I suspended my head in my hands. The throbbing behind my eyes only too well reminded me of how much last night's stunt had cost me. I winced at the thought. It was lucky the police hadn't caught me. How I had made it to the hotel without being caught was beyond me. How I gotten to the hotel without crashing and dying was also beyond me. I mean, please, are police so blind they can't tell somebody's intoxicated? Of course, there's that corruption thing going on. . .  
  
I looked over to the plain brown sack, neatly tucked in a corner. The rounded bulge reminded me of what I had in there. The pain in my neck reminded me why I even bothered. I hung my eyes, then again looked out the window.  
  
A couple argued outside, the woman waving her arms in a dizzinging display. The man yelled back, furiously motioning to nothing. Across from them, two truck drivers chatted, oblivious to the commotion a few yards away. On the other side of the trucks, a toddle tottered away from its mother, making a mad dash for freedom. Right below my window, two men were talking and laughing loudly.  
  
Life went on all around me. Why was it I was standing still?  
  
A sudden knock richoted off the walls.  
  
Startled, I leaped up.  
  
"Sir? Room Service."  
  
Room Service. I'd ordered nothing. Confused, I walked to the door and looked through the hole. Sure enough, a man dressed in a uniform that looked like a dress waited uncomfortably for me to open the door. Shaking my head, I opened the door.  
  
And saw the tray he held tightly in his hands.  
  
The bag. The painkillers. The high thing I had been. If I had this, no need, no need. . .  
  
I was drowning in this life anyway, might as well make it ceramonial. The world would blot out, would blank itself away. The pain would leave, the dragging need for the pills no longer necessary. Perfect bliss, perfect ignorance. The need to question would dim. What one thing could do, what magnitude I would bring myself to. . .  
  
"Yes," I said, holding my hand out to take the bottles away from him. "Thank you."  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FOUR  
  
  
  
"I'm favoring Creed heavily," Kurt Angle told Chris Irvine. "I like them. Don't you?"  
  
"Mmm, yeah, sure," Chris mumbled, looking past the racks of CD's to somewhere Kurt couldn't find. "Whatever."  
  
"I asked you to help me pick out a CD for my brother," Kurt said exsaspertedly. "I didn't ask you to come and play dead for an hour. Hey, you alive?"  
  
"I thought you said I was dead," Chris muttered, scrubbing at his face. "Yeah, I'm listening. Fine."  
  
"You like them?"  
  
"Sure, their music is cool, yeah, take it."  
  
"Which song do you like the best?"  
  
"Um. . ." Chris turned away, his eyes darting frantically. "You know, that one song, that song. . .you know. . "  
  
"Do you even know who we're talking about?"  
  
"No," he said helplessly.  
  
"Buddy, are you sure you're alright?" Kurt said, worry tainting his voice. "You look awful."  
  
"Back at you," Chris snapped. "Let's just get the CD and get out of here."  
  
"You said you'd help me," Kurt said, feeling a bit hurt.  
  
"I did," his friend replied, plucking a CD from the rack, handing it to Kurt. "Here. Perfect. He'll love it. Let's get out of here."  
  
Kurt looked at the title.  
  
"NSYNC?"  
  
Chris didn't say anything, only took the case away, put it back randomly, and chose another one. Kurt craned his neck to see the title.  
  
"BBmak?"  
  
"Fine then!" Chris snarled, taking it back, throwing it on the rows of CDs. "Pick your own damn CD." He turned and started to walk away, massaging his neck as he went.  
  
"Chris!" Kurt hurried after him. "Hey, wait! I didn't mean anything by it!"  
  
"Yeah, whatever," Chris called back angrily.  
  
"Hey! I have the keys!"  
  
He didn't reply, only kept walking. Kurt slowed, watching him stride through the door and out into the business of the mall. He watched in disbelief as he disappered into the crowd. How the hell did he just blow up and walk away? There was no logic in it.  
  
He grabbed the Creed CD and paid for it quickly, then set off for the massive parking structure. Chris would be there. Hopefully.  
  
He entered the lot and found his car, parked in the back, shrouded by SUV's around it. He went speedily around the back of one and came to the front of the space where his car was parked.  
  
Chris was not there.  
  
  
  
  
  
I do not own BBmak or NSYNC. I don't like NSYNC. Kay? Are we clear? This fic is going kinnda a fast, so I'll try to slow it down. Thanx. 


	3. No title

New part! Yah! Keep reading, please. This is all I request. Actually, I would't mind if you reviewed, you know. . .just one wish. . .a little tiny wish from the author. . . please? Well, I'm done begging. Hey! I'm still alive! Actually, I still haven't found my money yet, so if I don't update, you know what's happened to me. Hope you enjoy this part. I guess I should warn you: fight, driven by intoxication. Kay? You've been warned. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
  
  
My throat felt sore, my face aching, my neck crying for something to ease the pain. I touched my neck, massaging the flesh, wanting to ease the pain as much as possible until I could get back to the hotel. The car flitted across my mind, Kurt's car. The car that had brought me to the mall, and was supposed to take me back to the hotel. But as of now, that was changed.  
  
Kurt had ticked me off. It was as simple as that. He had driven me over the edge, simply pushed me too far. The hangover was partially to blame for it, for my anger, but again, it was him, his pushy attitude, and again, it was another off day. It had taken all my willpower to drive myself out of the bed that morning. It had taken even more power to stop retching and go with Kurt to the mall. Everything I had been was dissolving before my eyes.  
  
It was so painful to even look at the sun, at its radiant glow. It was so painful to go out into the cool lapping air of the day, to go out and see the beautiful lives of those around me, of the happy. They were free of torture, of the dark way their minds worked. They had no idea how one suffered, how I suffered, didn't give a damn. They could go to hell, all of them. They could walk through fire and I wouldn't even care. An eye for an eye.  
  
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and started to walk the backstreets and alleys.  
  
  
  
"Room Service?" I asked into the reciever.  
  
"Yes, how may I help you?"  
  
"Yes," I said. "Room 178. Beer. Ten."  
  
"I'll have to see identification when I come," the perky guy said.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Alright, that'll be twenty dollars."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"They will be there shortly," he said.  
  
"Yes." Just get the hell up here.  
  
"On my way."  
  
"Bastard," I mumbled into the phone when I heard the dial tone. Again, I cast my eyes to the neat brown sack, rolled up, the roundly shape showing clearly. I felt its currents underneath me, asking, calling.  
  
Adhering the call, I unfolded the bag and took out the bottle. The pills slid into my hand, slick and easy. I dropped five in my mouth and sat back to wait for my drinks and for the lightlessness to come and blessedly carry me.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hi, Chris."  
  
I looked at Stephanie in surprise. Oh, was she here for the finally promised day of flying. It was night, now, of course, but there was enough light in the city to light the way. I stepped back, inviting her inside the room.  
  
"Chris, why aren't you at Smackdown!?" she asked, making no small talk, anger in her voice. "You have an important part, we need you!"  
  
I stepped back, shocked. "I thought we were going to fly," I whispered, lolling my eyes back to the six empty bottles sitting in a row on the floor. "You never came. You said you would." I stumbled back, a sudden shot of nausea going through me. I staggered back and sat heavily on the bed. Why didn't she want to fly? She was my angel, my eagle, my engle! She had to fly with me!  
  
"Chris, are you alright? Get your act together! We have to go. Get your ass up and quit playing games!" Pure fury and anger. I looked away from her, tears smearing my vision. I groped for another bottle, twisting the top off it, pouring it down my throat. My engle was lost. Let me drown in my misery.  
  
"CHRIS!" Suddenly the bottle wasn't in my hands anymore. I blinked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" A pause. "Is this you're seventh bottle?" Another pause. "My God, Chris, what the hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Drinking." I snatched clumsily for the bottle. "Give it back!" Anger snapped at me.  
  
"No! You're drunk! You're high!" She was dancing backwards, toward the door. Anger rippled through me. I leaped off, swaying.  
  
"Hell no! Give me that bottle!" I lunged at her, swiping at her hand. She yelped and turned toward the door. NO! I threw my weight into the wall and it slammed shut.  
  
"Let me out or I'll scream!" she yelled, fright now in her tone. "Leave me alone!" She started to back up, towards the window.  
  
"Give me the bottle," I growled, moving towards her, stumbling the whole way. "Give me the bottle, and I won't hurt you."  
  
"Chris, stop it!" Her voice was almost hysterical now. "Stop it! You don't need this!"  
  
"I need it," I whispered. "I need it to live. I need it. I'll die if I don't have it. I'm drowning in my misery. Don't I sound so poetic, my engle? Give me the bottle, and I'll leave you alone."  
  
"NO!" She waved the glass, as if it would help her. "I'll hit you, I swear! Back off!" Yeah right. I needed the bottle. It was my destiny to have the bottle.  
  
"I need it, engle," I said, moving towards her, my vision starting to cross in my head. I had her almost backed up to the window. "Just give it to me. Nice and easy. Its not hard." As slits cut the pictures in my head, I felt my patience begin to drain. Sharp anger bolted in me. "JUST GIVE IT TO ME!"  
  
I lunged at her again, straining forward. Pain! Pain in my neck, in my shoulders!  
  
I dropped to the floor, howling. She had kicked me! The bitch had kicked me! Snarling, I reached out and tripped her. She flew down, the bottle flying from her hand. I watched it, crying out. It smashed into the wall and the liquid it held stained the white wall, the shattered pieces falling soundlessly to the ground.  
  
NO! My paradise, my Eden had broken with the bottle.  
  
Sorrow pounded my skull. No, no, no, no, no.  
  
I looked at her, at the wrench who had caused my anguish. She was scrambling to her feet, kicking with her heel foot at my hand. No. Not this time. No escape for you.  
  
I pulled myself up and leaped. She tumbled onto the bed, shouting hoarsely as she flipped onto the other side. Triumph! I tumbled after her, rage tinging my vision red. And again, she outsmarted me. Her foot shot up. The heel caught me in the shoulder, the wrench, and I rolled over, gasping. I rolled off the bed. Onto the floor. Onto my bottles lined up in a row.  
  
Glass jagged into me. I felt the blood spewing from my arms and chest.  
  
"You bitch!" I screamed, in pain and anger. I lurched forward, more glass cutting into me. "I'm going to kill you!"  
  
And then the world pivoted crazily and the omnious black that had been my life took me.  
  
  
  
  
  
Review, please. 


	4. No title

For the record, I don't own Nysnc or BBmak or Creed(thought I surely do love their music). I own only the little people. Um. . .oh yeah! I'm not dead, you can see. I found the thirty bucks(holds head up proudly) and now my sister dosen't have to kill me! Is that a good thing?, you may ask. To me, yes. To you? Well, you tell me! Here ya go!  
  
Woah, wait! Warning: another sort of fight, kinnda of through intoxication. Nothing too bad, I don't think. Just warning you.  
  
  
  
THE BREAKING POINT  
  
  
  
CHAPTER SIX(uh, last chapter said 3, it was supposed to be 5!)  
  
  
  
"Where's Stephanie?" Kurt asked Jay Reso. "She was just here."  
  
"She went to go get Jericho," Christian replied. "Why, I don't know."  
  
"He's important," Kurt said, deeply troubled. "He's also a bastard."  
  
"Do tell," Jay prompted.  
  
"Okay, you know how we went to the mall, to get my brother's CD?"  
  
"I said I was sorry," Jay started.  
  
"No, I'm not angry at you," Kurt said distractedly. "Even though you did say you would come. . ."  
  
"Go on," Jay growled.  
  
"Well, he was all moody, you know? He just blew up at me when we were looking at CD's. He just got all mad and went back to the hotel."  
  
"What CD's?"  
  
"The girl ones, Nsynking and BBtrack, or something like that. Why?"  
  
"Well, that's why. I mean, c'mon, we know NSYNC sucks(A/N: I DON'T LIKE NSYNC!)," Jay nodded.  
  
"Please. I think there's something wrong with him. He's been acting all strange."  
  
"I could say the same for you everyday."  
  
"Shut your trap, Jay, I'm not playing." Kurt restlessly started to pace the small room. "He's not himself. I can't even remember when he started acting this way, he's been doing it a lot, that's all I know. Just come out, do his job, and go back to that place of his. He was fine the other day, it seemed, but now its all full blown."  
  
"You sound like a book, you know?"  
  
"Jay, I'm not playing. Something's wrong." He stared into the air for a second. "I just don't know what.  
  
  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
  
  
There was a pounding, a relentless pounding. It tore at my arms, the pain raw and hot. I tried to ignore it, the pounding and the pain, but nothing could stop it. It was red in my arms, in my chest, in my whole body. The sea that represented my stomach tossed fitfully, not resting for a fraction of an instant. It threatened my soothing blackness that had hung so thickly over me.  
  
"Wake up!"  
  
The pounding was now accompained by buzzing words.  
  
"Get your ass up, Jericho."  
  
The melded black started to thin.  
  
"I'll call the cops. I know you're awake. GET UP!"  
  
It fizzled to nothing. Now the pain and the tossing sea were real, all too real.  
  
"What?" I tried to move, but the nasuea held me back, as did a firm hand. "What happened?"  
  
"Well," said a loud voice sarcastically. "Let's just say you got drunk and started to attack me. Let's just say I beat you and you passed out. Let's just say I decided not to call the police."  
  
"What?" Oh, God, the pain was too much, the nausea. The painkillers, I needed the painkillers! I writhed on the surface under me, but again, the hand held me down.  
  
"Stop moving," the voice said spitefully. "You need to get to a hospital. I wrapped your cuts best I could, but you need stictches." A delicate pause even I heard. "What the hell do you think you were doing, Chris? You almost killed me! You almost killed yourself!"  
  
Too much, too much!  
  
"The painkillers," I gasped. "Give them to me."  
  
"Oh, my God, you're on painkillers too?" The voice was shocked and angry. "No. I can't believe you, Chris! I should have guessed. . .that stupid flying thing, that engle thing, I can't believe you!"  
  
"Please," I whimpered, fighting to free myself. I felt my muscles convulse. Squeezing my eyes tight, I clenched the blanket under me. "Please. I need them." My head started to throb violently. I needed the painkillers, I needed a drink, I needed something, anything. . .  
  
"No. You don't. I'm calling my father."  
  
Who was the voice? Trembling, I wracked my brain to remember. A flash in the dark, a glare reflecting off a glass bottle. Red blood running down flesh, the stabs of pain. The heel snapping through the dark, kicking me in the face, the foot belonging to. . .  
  
"Stephanie?" I cried. "Is that you?"  
  
"Yes its me, who do you think it is?" Her voice was furious. "Don't move."  
  
"Don't call, he'll hurt me!" I spasmed, cracking my neck, sending jolts running through my spine. I felt my eyes glaze. "I need the painkillers, Stephanie, I need them!" I started to shake. Anything, anything. I felt rising in my throat. . .nothing would make it end, nothing would tear my mind away from pain. "Please," I croaked, finally opening my eyes, seeing her poised next to the phone. "Give me something. Just anything."  
  
She paused and looked back at me. Shivering, I looked back. "Please." A trace of pity sparkled in her eyes. Then she shook her head.  
  
"No," she said, her voice compassionate. "You need help, Chris."  
  
"I need the pills!" Shaking away the shivers that attacked my body, I summoned up all the strength my body possibly pocessed. I picked myself off the bed and threw myself at her.  
  
I landed awkwardly. Her eyes wide, she fell to the ground. I tumbled after her, my stomach starting to scream. My vision crisscrossed.  
  
"Get off me!" she shouted, struggling to move from under my massive weight.  
  
No. She can't get to the phone. I won't get my pills. . .I need the pills. . .  
  
I gripped her arm, letting my fingers go dead and lifeless.  
  
"Get off me!" she hollered again, pulling back from my grasp, but my fingers were locked. Shuting my eyes tightly, I lowered my head away, the images cavorting around wildly in my mind.  
  
The sound in my ears started to howl.  
  
Her bellows of words garbled. A loud, resonating click suddenly added itself to the string.  
  
"What," said a new, rough voice, "the hell is going on here?"  
  
Wrenching my eyes open, my fingers still clamped around Stephanie's wrist, I looked.  
  
Kurt Angle stood in the doorway, his face hooked into shock.  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT  
  
  
  
Making no attempt to soften the hurt, she wripped the bloody bandage from his wrist.  
  
"Hey!" Chris said angrily, snatching his wrist back. "Be careful."  
  
Not replying, she calmly took his wrist back, steadying it before her.  
  
Kurt stood on the edge of the room, watching through narrowed eyes as Stephanie catiously bandaged the gashing rips in Chris's flesh. He was beyond anger. It vibrated through him as he looked over the Jericho, the bags hanging underneath his eyes, the pale pallor of his face, the tears on his chest and arms.  
  
How does he justify this? What the hell did he think he was doing? The painkillers, the alcohol. It was all there, the signs. I walked into a trap and got snapped up. How does he justify it? How do I justify it?  
  
"We should really call the police," he said, allowing the taunt in his voice to be clear. "They really should know about this."  
  
"I told you I was sorry," Chris said furiously. "It was an accident. It won't happen again."  
  
Kurt whipped up the white bottle.  
  
"Christopher Irvine," he read off the lable. "Valerium. Neck pain. Take one every hour in pain persists, no more than three a day. Date: Saturday the 5th. In three days, lets see how many pills you have left." He twisted off the top and tapped the bottle. Thirteen pills dropped into his hand. He glared at Chris. "In a bottle of thirty, you have passed that amount by more that half. And I know this is not your first bottle. You've had that brace for more than two weeks. I can't even believe they gave you another bottle." Shaking with fury, he slowly put the bottle back down on the table. He turned back to Chris, who was eyeing it hungrily.  
  
"I can't believe you," he said, his voice trembling. "I thought I knew you better than that. I thought you were a better person that that. I thought you knew how to handle things. I thought you were in control of things!" He snatched up the bottle and threw it against the wall, his body shaking.  
  
Chris leaped up, shoving Stephanie away. His movements were slow and careful, but he dropped down next to the white pills before Kurt realized what had happened, Quickly, he grabbed on and tipped it down his throat, pawing for another one instantly.  
  
"No!" Kurt sprang forward, his mind crazed.  
  
How can he? He betrayed everything, my trust, the world. And he stills trys for its. He's sick, he's deranged, he needs help. This will help.  
  
He thrust his foot out.  
  
Yelping, Chris fell back, landing heavily on the ground, the tears on his chest opening again, a trickle of blood trailing. He started back to his feet, but Kurt kicked out his hands and stood above him, glowering.  
  
"Take one step," he said, his teeth clenched. "And I'll show you the definition of pain." Chris merely looked around him, his eyes searching for the bulk of the pills scattered together.  
  
Kurt backed up, toeing the pills away. Chris looked up at him now, his face burning.  
  
"You have no right," he declared, getting to his feet, leaning against the wall for support, "to tell me what to do and what not to do. Get out of my way."  
  
"Stephanie," Kurt said, never taking his eyes off his friend turned advasery. "Call the police. Tell them we have a drug addict here."  
  
"I'm not a drug addict!" Chris snarled.  
  
"Is Valerium a drug? Yes, are you an addict, yes! Combine those words, and yes, it does make you a drug addict." Kurt waited, challenging. "Call them Stephanie. Tell them he attacked you and he's crazy and he's an heroin addict."  
  
"Get your ass off it, Angle!" Chris trumpeted. "MOVE!"  
  
"No!" Kurt stood his ground as Chris looked briefly away, then turned back to face him. His fist went flying. But it was slow and clumsy, slowed by the description Kurt had just informed him of. Kurt easily blocked it, reversing the blow and flinging him onto the bed. He jumped onto him, covering him tightly, pinning him so there was no room for movement.  
  
"Get off me!" Chris screamed, flailing to no avail.  
  
"Then you knock it off!"  
  
"I'm not doing anything!"  
  
"I'd say taking painkillers is something!"  
  
"Their for my neck, you idiot, I'm fine!"  
  
"Wrong!" Kurt continued to pin him tightly, but now his eyes roamed to Stephanie, who stood drawn up against the wall, her eyes wide as she watched them wrestle with each other. He shook his head. "If I let you up, will you stop it?"  
  
"I'm not doing anything!" Chris shouted again, bucking despertely. "Let me up!"  
  
"We know something's wrong, so why don't you just admit it!" Kurt demanded, having no problem asserting his hold. "Just admit it!" He tightened his grip slightly.  
  
"No!"  
  
Kurt's hands gripped furiously.  
  
"No," Chris sobbed, swiping helplessly with his hands. "Just leave me alone. Just get off me and leave me alone. Give me my pain pills and leave me alone. Please, just go away, just leave me alone, just everybody leave me alone. . . ."  
  
Kurt looked at Stephanie, pain in his face. When she looked back, there was that as well.  
  
And Chris just went on sobbing, "Just leave me alone. .. everybody just please leave me alone. . ." 


	5. The End

Kay, I hate to do this, seriously I do, but I'm going to try to end this fast. I seriously don't want to, I'd give a lot to not. But I have only tonight and today to stay at my grandfather's and I won't be back for probably another three months. I want to end this short thing, so I won't forget my plans. I'm very sorry to the people who reviewed and liked it. I'ver truly sorry. When I come back, I'll maybe revise the ending. I'm sorry, again. Okay? Sorry if it comes out terrible but at least I won't feel sad for leaving it not finished. Well, here ya go, I don't have much time, so I better type fast.  
  
  
  
THE BREAKING POINT  
  
  
  
CHAPTER NINE  
  
  
  
"I don't think we should call," Stephanie said nervously, wringing her hands, watching Chris in a druken sleep. "All it'll bring is trouble."  
  
"We're already in trouble," Kurt said tiredly. "Deep trouble." He looked over to his sleeping friend. "I think.. . .I don't know what to do." He sighed heavily. "Let's just give it some time, alright? Let's just wait and see."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
I just hope I'm right.  
  
  
  
"Look what the cat dragged in," Kurt said sarcastically. Chris blinked, shaking his head, clutching his stomach and twisting on the bed. "Its about time you woke your ass up."  
  
Chris looked back at him sullenly, still clutching his stomach.  
  
"Don't you act like you don't remember," Kurt reprimanded. "I swear, I will call your ass in right now. Don't move."  
  
"Why?" Chris said irratibly, rolling to the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the floor. Kurt jumped up. Chris looked at him like he was crazy.  
  
"Oh, just go to hell," he stated, pushing to his feet. Kurt watched him warily as he staggered to the bathromm and walked in, shutting the door quickly. Kurt gave a startled yelp and moved, but Stephanie was quicker. She threw the door open.  
  
"Hey!" Chris furiously threw the package he was holding into the bathtub, placing himself in front of it. "What do you want?"  
  
"Move," Kurt growled. "Or I'll make you. What was in that pack?"  
  
"Nothing. Go away."  
  
Kurt responded by rushing him, forcing him to back away against the wall, away from the tub. Stephanie pounced and held up in her hand the package. Kurt examined it as he held Chris back. It was a plain package, just a white bag. Stephanie ripped it open and looked into it.  
  
"More painkillers," she reported. Kurt turned to Chris, furious. Chris went red, turning his head away. Kurt felt his fury bubble up within him, the anger, the pain. . .his fist cocked back and slammed against his friend's face.  
  
Chris crumpled, falling back onto the toilet, holding his face.  
  
"That's for being an asshole in general," Kurt spat. Again, he knocked his fist against Chris's face. "That's for attacking Stephanie." And again, his fist crushed his face. "And that's for being an idiot and wasting yourself."  
  
Chris looked at him in disbelief, holding his bleeding nose.  
  
"Need some help?" Kurt said pleasently, holding out his hand, as if to help him up. "I'll help you straight to that rehab center that's over on Main."  
  
"You broke my nose," Chris croaked.  
  
"They'll take care of that, too. Get up, Jericho, let's go."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Chris said, his voice pinched.  
  
"Let's go buddy, get up."  
  
"I'm not your buddy."  
  
"Do I need to make you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Fine." Kurt shot his hand out, grabbed Chris's hair, and jerked him to his feet.  
  
"Hey!" Chris swatted, but it did not good. Kurt held firm.  
  
"Chris," Stephanie said quietly from across the small room. "It'll be a lot less painless if you just get up."  
  
Chris stood now, his hands gripped around Kurt's wrists locked in his hair. Sighing, he followed Kurt's grip. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. I don't know what you're worried about. Let's just get this over with." Obideintly, he followed Kurt.  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER TEN  
  
  
  
"I need them," I yelled hoarsely. "Just give them to me."  
  
The rehab guy looked at me clamly, shook his head, and left the room. Shivering, I wrapped the blanket around myself more tightly. I glared hatefully at nothing. They gave me a little room, then left. What kind of help was this?  
  
I thought longingly of the outside world. It had been a week since Kurt and Stephanie had forcefully dragged me down here and checked me in. As far as I knew, they had told no one, only said I was leaving because I needed to be alone. Please. They had come the first three days, but when I had given them nothing, they had stopped. Good. I didn't care about them. It was their fault I was here in the first place. They could go to hell.  
  
The neck pain was well gone. But that didn't stop my thirst for the painkillers, or for the drinks which I so needed. I was given nothing of the sort here. They were compassionate, yes, but if they really meant it, they could give me the things I needed. The first day I had been cracking. The pain, the need, had been nothing. A week later the sharp edge had dulled, but it was still there.  
  
I looked at a caterpiller crawling in the corner, shaking in the blanket. What kind of hygeine was this? Angrily, I moved toward the thing, my foot preparing to stomp. Cocking my leg back, I pushed down.  
  
It splattered under my foot.  
  
I grinned wickedly. Ha. Die.  
  
Suddenly a knock.  
  
"Yeah," I said, still pleased with myself. "Come in."  
  
In walked Eddie Guerreo.  
  
Nothing could mask my shock. You see, Eddie here has also been hooked on painkillers. It was terrible when he was finally sniffed out. Ordered to rehab, and he's still not back yet. It was all very sad when it happened. It was a very unfortuante time. You think something like this would have shied me away from stuff like that. Nope.  
  
"Eddie," I greeted curteously, though I couldn't figure out what he wanted.  
  
"Jericho," he replied, eyeing me, my blanket still wrapped around me, shaking, the state of my face, how thin I was. "You look terrible."  
  
"Thanks for the compliment." I went back and sat down. "What do you want?" I looked at him suddenly. "You have something for me?" If he did. . .he knew what it felt like. He'd be symphathetic, wouldn' the? I looked at him hungrily. Sadly, he shook his head.  
  
"No, Jericho, I got nothing." He was looking at me sadly. "Poor you. How ya feeling?"  
  
"What do you think?" I growled as I tried vainly to tighten the blanket around me tighter. "If you have nothing, leave."  
  
"Jericho, it dosen't work like that." He was looking at me straight in the eye now. "You need to get better, then you can leave."  
  
"How do you rate if someone's better?" I snorted. "How do you know I won't just go back out there and get more? You could do that. Why don't you?"  
  
"Because I'm better," Eddie said, wincing. "I know what to do with my life now. You, on the other hand, would like nothing more than to get wasted."  
  
"True," I said. "So why don't we get past all this and you go out and get me some?"  
  
"I told you, that's not the way it works. You have to want this."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Yes you do."  
  
"How do you know what and what I don't want?"  
  
"Because I was like you, Jericho," Eddie answered. "I wanted to drown in my pain. I wanted nothing more than to take the pills and live on that high life. I'm alive now, Jericho. And no matter what JR tells you people, I'm fine. I'm just redefineing my skills." He was silent, then went on. "You can, too."  
  
"I just want my pills," I told him plainly.  
  
"You want to get in the ring."  
  
"No, I don't," I told him recklessly. "Just go."  
  
"Jericho, I was going to kill myself." I looked at him sharply. He was fiddling with his fingers. No matter what had happened, I had never considered killing myself. It had never seemed worth it. Getting wasted had, but not killing myself.  
  
"I was," he said, seeing my face. "I had all the pills. If somebody hadn't showed up, I would have." He was running his hand restlessly through his hair. "I'm serious. Listen, Jericho, I'm only going to say this once." I saw his eyes turn toward me, pleading. "Stop it. Its not worth it. It destroys your life. I"m lucky I got out when I could." He stood up abruptly.  
  
"You put me on the shelf for six months a few years back," he said. "You had power then, see what you did to me. Now you have nothing. You have a half life that will never amount to nothing if you don't try. If you want that power back, you need to try." His eyes disfocused. "If you reach your breaking point, Jericho, you're done. I'm telling you now, if you try, you can make it. Don't mess it up." He walked toward the door and opened it. He paused for a second, then looked back at me. "You have the power, Jericho. So use it." Shutting the door, he was gone.  
  
For a long time, I sat thinking about what he had said. Then I realized I was no longer shaking. My breaking point. If I reached it, I was done. Had I already reached it? Was I already done?  
  
I sighed. Eddie had that experience. I had the power. Could I possibly extract myself from the hole I had fallen into?  
  
Maybe. In time.  
  
But I was willing to try.  
  
  
  
  
  
No real closure, I know, not much follow up, a lot of irrevelant things, I know. But this was my retreat, my world away. This fic helped me a lot (I just watched "Behind the Music" on Creed, I feel inspiried, sue me), so thanks. Thanks for those who read to the end, and please review. Please, I beg you go read my "There's No Reason." I'd really appreciate it. Any comments would be appreciated. Thanx, people.  
  
I'd just like you to know that probably this will be my last fic for the next couple of months, but please, keep reading my stories, keep checking. I'd really love that. So thanks for sticking with me. See ya soon. 


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